Jules tried to appear as the innocent weakling they probably figured him for.Use their underestimation of you as another weapon in your arsenal,Radomir had said.
“I…I don’t have those things.” Why have a cellphone with no one to call? Jules kept perfectly still. Let them underestimate him. He’d catch them off guard. First, the two behind him, then the two in front. These bullies likely expected a passive victim, not an attack. Any street-fighting experience couldn't compare to his formal training.
“He’s lying,” another of the four said. He stood taller than the other three, clenching and unclenching his fists. A tattoo on his hand and a ragged scar across his jaw made him look more sinister. He got into Jules’s face, so close his rank breath induced an involuntary wince. Old booze and cigarette smoke. The man likely interpreted the flinch as fear. Alcohol and cigarettes tooka toll. For all his size, Scarred Gang Banger probably wasn’t the fittest man here.
Jules kept his voice meek, his gaze downcast, appearing demure while studying any telltale body language. Even the best of fighters had their weaknesses. “I…I’m not lying. All I have are textbooks and a few notebooks. You can have it all.” Jules slipped the pack from his back, yanking away from the hands holding his arms. He’d rather talk his way out of a situation than fight, as Radomir had taught him. Fighting might give away more than he intended. But Jules had reasons to learn to fight.
Just in case, he inched his fingers toward an exterior pocket, where he kept insurance.
If only he could partially shift, turning his fingers into claws and letting his lovely scales creep up his hands, adding a layer of protection. Maybe theseassholes would take the bag and leave.
Mr. Tattoo grabbed Jules by the throat, deciding the matter between fight and flight, flinging the backpack away. No! “I’m thinking you’re more interesting than anything in the bag.” He lowered his voice to something he might think seductive, but that made Jules’s blood run cold. “Pretty little thing like you. Come on, baby, give us a kiss.”
Bile rose in Jules’s throat. His dragon rose, demanding release. He’d rend these attackers to their bones! A growl escaped Jules’s throat.
The other three men laughed, ignoring the warning. One made kissing noises.Never!Jules braced to bash his head against the asshole’s. Painful, but effective. He’d have to be careful. Articles often appeared online of vicious attacks leaving the victims brutalized. Those could involve dragons. Whatever he did, he could leave no evidence of his dual nature, if not for himself, then for Moira and Radomir.
He visualized each move in his head, calculating the positions of his targets: a headbutt, a roundhouse right, a well-aimed kick.This time, he wouldn’t stop his foot from connecting like he did with Radomir.
A rumbling growl came from somewhere deep in the alley, followed by a rich baritone. “Let him go.” The sound sent a shiver down Jules’s spine.
The four men all turned toward the sound, as did Jules.
A man stalked from the shadows, clad in a black leather jacket, jeans, and dusty boots. A dark braid hung over one shoulder, and he sported an impressive five o’clock shadow.Badassradiated from him. Whether dragon or human, here stood an alpha. He towered over Jules and the thugs. “You must not have heard me, but I said, ‘Let. Him. Go.’”
“And if we don’t?” Mr. Tattoo asked in a much less impressive growl of his own.
“Then I hand you your asses,” the man replied casually. Tall, Dark, and Brutal took a step closer, a feral grin making him appear far more sinister than any of the hoodie guys. “Who’s first?” The low timbre of his voice alone could make someone tremble in their boots, either from fear or lust.
“Go on, man. This doesn’t concern you,” Mr. Tattoo snarled, tightening his hold on Jules’s neck.
Jules grasped at the man’s hands. The tips of his fingers tingled, a warning of impending claws. “Ackk!” he gasped, still playing the role of helpless. Time to act. The next time Leather Jacket guy stole the asshole’s attention…
“If he’s injured, the cops will be the least of your worries,” the stranger drawled, sounding bored and leaning one shoulder against the brick wall as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
The thug let go, shoving Jules back. “We’re just having a little fun.”
The stranger arched an eyebrow, shifting his gaze from the leader to Jules and back again. “Well, it didn’t look much fun for him.”
It would’ve been in a few more minutes, once Jules gave in enough to his dragon to teach these assholes a lesson.
Leather Guy continued, “If you don’t leave now, I’m gonna have myself a party with you as a piñata. Trust me. You won’t enjoy it unless you’re into some really sick shit.” Jules’s savior stalked like a predatory cat toward the guy who appeared to be the leader. “When someone is picking on someone else, four to one, it’s my concern.” He moved closer, calm, unhurried, carrying his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to strike at any moment. His trajectory would take him between Jules and the brutes. “I’ve had a long day. You interrupted my search for a beer. Stress relief, don’cha know? Kicking ass works just about as well.”
The man closest to the stranger swung. The stranger caught the punch in his fist, grabbed the man’s wrist, and tossed him onto his back onto the filthy pavement as if he weighed less than Jules’s backpack. He landed with a harsh “Ooaf!”
The second bully charged, arms wide to tackle the stranger. Every instinct screamed at Jules to engage. He grabbed his backpack up by the straps and swung with all his might, catching the leader in the face. The backpack sailed down the alley.
Dang it! He’d lost his talisman now! Not that he’d need Radomir’s backup with the stranger around.
The leader stumbled backward, cracking his head against a brick wall. He slid down until he landed in a puddle of something Jules didn’t want to consider. What? Did Jules actually take someone out while barely trying? Radomir would be proud…if Jules even told him. Actual fights were much different from sparring. Radomir never tried to hurt him.
The fourth attacker looked from his leader to Jules and then at the stranger. He ran.
The leader and the other two scrambled to their feet, darting back the way Jules had come. One cast a frightened glance over his shoulder as the others outran him.
Jules’s dragon wanted to give chase, to rend limb from limb.You’re kind of bloodthirsty for an omega, aren’t you?he asked his alter ego. The impression of smugness answered him.
At last, only Jules and his rescuer remained. The leather-clad badass stood over six feet tall, with dark, piercing eyes, and was maybe a few years older than Jules. What would happen now? Would this man attack, too?
